I remember
cruising down the twisty and windy roads of the Appalachian and Smokey
Mountains when I was thirteen years old.
I was sitting comfily in the passenger seat of my mom’s coffee brown
Blazer listening to the radio’s top hits and imagining what it would be like to
hike the tall peaks of the mountains passing by the car windows. The winds and turns that my mom was
pioneering quickly made my eyes heavy and heavier… Then my mom violently shook my shoulder and I
woke up groggily from a sleep I didn’t know I fell into. My mom was staring at her rearview mirror,
panicked and confused she shouted “Alondra, grab the cat grab the cat grab the
cat!” I whipped my head around to see our pet cat, Meechos, in position to poop
on the lap of my sleeping little sister, who was sat promptly in the center of
the backseat. It was obviously too late
when I realized that I should have grabbed the cat sooner. I remember yanking off my cat, and looking at
my mom, and the only words I could stammer was “The damage is done.” A few short seconds later, my mom angrily pulled
into a rest area that she luckily caught just as the events were unfolding. We shouted at my little sister, “Fabiola,
wake up!” And Fabiola’s big brown eyes burst open, quickly bouncing from left to right, taking in their surroundings
and then eerily looking around to see what the big deal was. Then I remember she looked down. I vividly remember her gasping and then screaming, looking
at my mom and saying “Mom! Meecho’s pooped in my hands!” I couldn’t help but
laugh but my moms quick glare forced me to stifle my giggles and additionally hold my
breath, as the smell in the car was unbearable. We quickly pulled into the rest stop and I yanked my siblings out of the backseat of our
blazer, grabbing Fabiola and quickly running her to the bathroom sinks to wash her
up. I remember my mom forcing us to stick all of our comfy
cozy blankets that were effected into a black trash bag
and throw them away, as we still had another 8 hours to our drive. Fabiola was a mess, crying and embarrassed,
her cheeks the color of red granny apples when they’re ripe. Fabian, Jocely, and I were having the laugh of
their lives while my mom was busy washing Fabiola’s hands and arms, trying to rid her
of the putrid smell that somehow came from our cats body. We piled back into the car, all five of us,
when the mess was finally cleaned up. The rest
of our trip to South Carolina was spent with the windows down, trying to rid us
of any sniff of the cat poop smell that still lingered. I remember looking at my mother and seeing the vivid presence of regret on her face for not letting the cat out sooner. Fabiola stayed in a
sour mood the entire trip, mortified that our cat had pooped directly into her
hands yet also trying to control her laughter at the comedy of the
situation. To this day at family
gatherings, when we are all around each other cozy and happy, we laugh about this funny and awful memory; we remember in fits and giggles when my mom forced me to strip a fat cat in mid-poop from my little
sister’s lap and how we had to throw away our favorite lap blankets because we
didn’t our cat Meecho’s out enough during this long road trip. We learned our lesson.
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